


make the darkness divine

by smallredboy



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Infarction (House M.D.), Pre-Canon, Prompt Fill, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 09:13:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17261537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: Wilson goes to House's apartment and is met with something unexpected.





	make the darkness divine

**Author's Note:**

> fills a prompt from an anon in my tumblr, also fills the 'suicide' square in my gen prompt bingo card.
> 
> title from thug life by brockhampton.
> 
> enjoy!

House has leaned on Wilson for the last year or so.

It’s okay; he doesn’t mind it, really. He’s going through some tough shit— his girlfriend left him, and he’s dealing with the fact he’s now disabled. He isn’t surprised when he lashes out, when he stays in the shower for hours on end. House is quieter than before all this, before his injury, but he deals with it.

House speaks in his sleep, sometimes, while Wilson is in the living room trying to sleep. It’s never anything sensical; when he gets closer, all he hears is Stacy’s name over and over, like a plea he doesn’t have any more words for. House wakes up in a cold sweat afterward, and he doesn’t question it. Stacy has left him in shambles, he gets it.

Not until he finishes his work day and opens the door with his spare key. The apartment is oddly silent, and he steps inside.

“House?” he calls out, his heart starting to beat faster as he hangs his jacket up. He starts looking for him, and he ends up with every room covered except for the closed bathroom.

He draws in a breath. 

“House?”

No reply.

He turns the doorknob and walks inside and his eyes widen at what he’s met with. House’s head is tilted to the wall, what seems like vomit dribbling off his chin. His stomach turns and he rushes towards him, using the bathwater to clean his chin off before taking his vitals. 

He turns and sees the Vicodin vial on the floor— there are only two pills left.

“Fuck,” he breathes before starting to help House off the bath. He’s still unconscious, breathing shallowly and his heart beating hard against his ribcage. Wilson wonders if this was because the pain was that bad and he didn’t count how many he took— no that’s not possible. It’s House.

The mere idea that it was intentional makes him even sicker, though, so he ignores all the possibilities swirling through his mind, and focuses on getting his best friend better.

There’s a quiet humming around the house; he puts him on the couch, knowing he’d kill him if he brought him to the hospital to deal with it.

He puts the TV on and listens to House breathing, the way House’s lips twitch upwards and how exhausted he looks. He notices the tear tracks around his cheeks, and suddenly he’s the one with bile rising up his throat. He stops himself from dry heaving, though, and waits for him to wake up.

“Hey, knight in shining armor,” House drawls, coughing and dry heaving, tipping his head to the floor as he coughs and retches, nothing coming out for a while.

“You overdosed intentionally.”   


House doesn’t reply, too focused on getting his breath back in rhythm.

“You can deal with being disabled, House. Stacy’s over you—”   
  
“Yeah, but I’m not over her,” he huffs. “And what better way to show that she broke me than giving it an end?”   
  
Wilson’s heart sinks, and he blinks at him for a few long moments. Nothing in that sentence makes much sense, how would Stacy break House? Was their breakup that bad? No, it wasn’t, what’s—

“You haven’t put the pieces together,” House says, almost annoyed. As if he just didn't try to kill himself.

“What pieces?”   
  
House dry heaves a bit more and snatches the water right out of Wilson’s hands, taking a few sips. His eyes are exhausted, and his lip is trembling a little. He keeps his hands on his thighs, his eyes on the floor, his mouth pushed into a grimace.

“Stacy didn’t leave me without doing something heinous first.”   


Wilson blinks.

“What?”   
  
“I’m a cripple now, and I hate that she made that decision, but I’m in pain all the time, right?” It’s like he’s explaining to a third grader, his voice all sick and sweet and disgusted with Wilson and with something deep inside himself. “The nightmares, Jimmy.”

“The nightmares?” he echoes.

“I think waking up in a cold sweat after dreaming about my ex counts as nightmares,” he deadpans.

“Uh-huh.”   
  
“And the fact I hate talking about her. And the fact I don't hire hookers nearly as frequently as before.”   


Wilson hadn’t noticed. He usually doesn’t notice, or pretends not to care, about House’s sex habits. They’re predictable enough— Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, before Stacy, he went and got a hooker. He knew not to bother him then.

But now, all of that is gone. He hasn’t hired a single hooker this month, or the one before. The last time he remembers is two months ago, where House shut him off and he could hear him fuck into her. 

“She…”

The mere idea makes his stomach churn. He can’t believe Stacy could do something of the sort— she seems nice enough, they’re in good terms, she’s alright. She just agreed to that surgery, right?

It can’t be more than that. It can’t. God, the mere thought of seeing House like this because of that crushes him, and it’s most likely what’s going on.

“She assaulted me,” he agrees.

Wilson swallows the urge to beg him to let him hold him. He simply looks, and nods, and offers him his hand.

“Are you better? After the overdose.”   
  
House doesn’t meet his eye— he pretends he does, sure, but he’s clearly looking at his nose and not his eyes. “Yes.”   
  
“You can’t pretend it didn’t happen forever.”   
  
House gives him a pretenseful smile, all arrogant, and it would drive him mad with the desire to kiss him a few months ago. He still loves him, he’s always loved him, but now he has bigger matters to worry about. “I sure can try.”   


Wilson nods, knowing there’s no way to win against a man who doesn’t know how to cope and doesn’t care about himself enough to learn how to. House takes his hand, sits down next to him, and leans into his shoulder.

“Want to watch TV?”   
  
House hums lowly, his eyes still unfocused. “Always.”   


End file.
